Teenaged Gypsy
by Colt
Summary: pre-reboot. After receiving the invitation to Bruce's latest shindig, Tim wishes he didn't feel quite so alone as Red Robin.


_First Batman fic I'm not entirely ashamed of. That's a new feeling. Ha.  
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_So I was kind of wondering how all the reboot Batman-verse comics lined up with one another… So here's my take on it. _ Kind of angsty cause I want to know why Tim's not working with the batfam at all, and not really Bruce friendly._  
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_**Reboot!Batman #1 concurrent, pre-Reboot!Teen Titans #1. Tim-centric. PG.**_

—

Tim's on a mission when he gets the invite. He notices it's a bit delayed, and makes a mental note that his reception is patchy in this area of the world as he pulls the message up. It's some kind of gala, Bruce announcing his plans for a 'better, brighter Gotham'. Tim chuckles as he replies with "By burning it down? Really, you should've done that years ago."

There's another delay in which Tim slinks through a sewer, slips through an unmanned entrance, and places a detection virus in the network to destroy a drug baron's scheme of drug distribution in the Western US. He prides himself that it only resulted in three physical combats before he escapes on his wings.

His reply returns as he's soaring to his last hideout to retrieve his computer and civvies.

"I'll take the sarcasm as your RSVP."

Tim actually checks the date and time of the event and swears. He's already booking a flight as he changes into Alvin.

He hacks the airport's network while in-flight and has it register him as checked in on the international flight Bruce scheduled. He assumes Bruce would check to make sure he was actually on it, but he that was hoping for a bit much. Still, Tim hides his identity on the airplane arriving from the opposite direction, calculating the quickest route back to Wayne manor to make up for the difference in arrival time.

The lady in the seat next to him keeps giving him disapproving looks. Tim knows he's dirty - but he can't smell _that _bad. His Red Robin suit took the brunt of the mess on that mission the invite almost interrupted.

When she's complaining to her companion, he takes an inventory sniff. Okay, yeah, he reeks of a sewer. He's still got some mud and grit on some skin. He awkwardly rubs at his face, and wonders if he'll finally need to shave. A shower was in order. Bruce couldn't know he was anywhere other than a classroom when he got the invite.

Seeing Wayne manor again was a bittersweet instant as the taxi driver stopped in front of the gate with an awed look. He tips the man well to not say a word about his fare's drop-off point. The cabbie's jaw actually drops when the palm scanner accepts Tim and opens the pedestrian gate. Tim gives a cheery wave, feeling a little smirky, before running up the long, long walk to the manor's door.

Alfred answers, and Tim breathes a sigh of relief. "Hello Alfred," he greets brightly, slipping into his role. It had to be a perfect performance.

"It's good to see you again, Master Timothy." And Alfred's face says it's the truth. At least Tim feels welcomed by one person. Their 'family' is so dysfunctional they almost deserve their own sitcom. Alfred relieves him of his backpack, and Tim can see the caretaker straining not to curl his nose as he inspects the boy head to toe.

"Would you like a haircut after your shower, Master Timothy?" Alfred asks, glancing at Tim's hair that isn't quite the school regulation length. Tim nods sheepishly, and heads upstairs to 'his' rooms.

He suspects Alfred may be the only member of the household that doesn't completely believe Tim's away at that prestigious abroad boarding school Bruce is paying hundreds of thousands of dollars to. He does stop in - once in a while - to drop off assignments that can't be emailed or to prove to some professor he actually does exist as a person. But he's never met his roommates, sat through a class, or slept in his dormitory bed.

He hears the food's great, though.

At least better than the crap he's been stuffing in his system. McDonald's salads and Jamba Juice fruit smoothies can only have so more nutritional value. It's hard to keep on a strict diet while keeping a low profile as a teenaged gypsy. And it's taken it's toll on him.

Tim notices his ribs are more pronounced in the shower and makes a mental note to avoid letting Dick hug him too much tonight. His clingy 'big brother' would notice the most of Tim's physical changes.

It feels great to take a real shower with hot water that's actually pressurized. He washes his hair three times until the last of the grit is removed from his scalp. He runs his hand over his jaw, wondering if the scruffiness he felt was actually stubble or not. Nope, just grime. Disgusting. He has to scrub himself nearly raw to feel clean.

Alfred's waiting for him at his desk when he gets out of the shower, a plastic sheet already on the floor. "Master Bruce and Master Richard are already in the Batcave," he informs Tim as he whisks the smock around Tim's neck.

"What was the mission tonight, Alfred?" Tim asks as the older gentlemen efficiently snips away Tim's shaggy hair. He's cut Tim's hair into this style often enough to make it quick as it needs to be tonight.

"An investigation into a weak link in Arkham's security," Alfred responses smoothly. "Nothing to worry about." Tim scoffs lightly under his breath, and tries to quell the jealousy rising in his chest.

He knows Bruce meant best, sending him away to separate him from Damian. Bruce knew Tim still worked as Red Robin, and send him missions once in a while not knowing Tim had gone completely freelance without Daddy bats around to breath down his neck. But it left a sour taste in his mouth. The adopted son shipped off, while the little hellion got a freaking _dog_. Guess it would be bad publicity if the Wayne brothers were seen attempting to kill each other every night.

So he'd play along. Pretend to be the brilliant, lucky boy Bruce Wayne adopted and paid to send off to a better education; smile for the cameras at these shindigs and get along with his 'little brother'. He'd stay around for the next day or so, answering Bruce's questions about school and enduring Dick's teasings about needing to get a girlfriend. Then he'd pretend to get back on the plane to go to school, and disappear into the night.

Alfred whisks the hair off his neck and Tim smiles genuinely at his confidant. "Thank you, Alfred."

"You need to eat more, Master Timothy," is all he replies, then helps Tim into his tux.

Alfred exits, leaving Tim to his own thoughts. He looks at himself in the mirror, and can see how dark his eyes are from restless nights and long missions. He didn't have a Robin, and he certainly didn't have a Batman. He was alone.

Sometimes, Tim imagines there's a different universe, where Tim Drake isn't so damn lonely. He's not that inventive and can't imagine the life-altering events any different, but he wishes he had a group of friends he knew had his back - a team. And maybe one very close friend who would attend these stupid events with him and make them more bearable.

Then he's out of time. Tim rushes downstairs in time for Damian to mock his late arrival, "What happened Drake, get lost finding your own bedroom?", before opening the door as Bruce and Dick arrive from the Batcave. He gives a smirky smile, falling into his role as the middle brother.

"Finally," Damian announces obnoxiously.

"It's a who's who of Gotham in there," Tim smoothly states while he fixes Damian's collar, as if he's been here for hours already and scoped the place out.

The rest of the evening is lost amid Damian's snide jabs, Dick's one-liners, and pleasantries exchanged with Gotham's finest. Bruce disappears from his own party at some point. Tim's able to duck out fairly early himself, with the excuse of being an underaged student. Dick catches his shoulder as he leaves.

"Hey Timmy, where you going?"

Tim gives a weary smile. "I'm bored," he conspiratorially mutters. "And I have some research to do."

"Homework?" Dick asks curiously. "You mean you haven't finished it in a nanosecond already?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "I'm good, but not that good."

Dick laughs and nods to someone in the crowd beyond Tim. "Alright. Go work. But I'll be up later and we can catch up, okay? You don't call often enough."

Tim agrees, to both statements actually, and escapes upstairs away from the elite. He stops at the top, just inside the shadows, and watches. From this distance, it's all glitz and glitter, shiny wrapping paper blown lazily around the ballroom reflecting pure brilliance in the light. Kind of like Christmas.

It's beautiful, really.

Tim watches for a moment longer, that imaginary friend next to a far-away and long-gone Tim whispering about how superficial it all seemed, then turns his back.

He strips off his bowtie in the safety of the darkness in his room as he announces aloud, "Computer, start a new file on my private server; full encryption. Title: Teen Titans."


End file.
